


This Is Your Brain... on Hormones

by Rowaine



Series: Playtime [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other, Toys, Xander is Cordelia's sex toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowaine/pseuds/Rowaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junior year at Sunnydale High. (This makes Xan seventeen, for those of you who prefer not to read smutty stories about minors.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Your Brain... on Hormones

**Series:** Playtime  
  
**Title:** This Is Your Brain... on Hormones  
  
**Author:** Rowaine (rowained@yahoo.com)  
  
**Fandom:** BtVS  
  
**Rating:** NC-17+  
  
**Summary:** Junior year at Sunnydale High. (This makes Xan seventeen, for those of you who prefer not to read smutty stories about minors.)  
  
**Warnings:** Toy!kink, Teen angst, UST, crushes... all the usual drama.   
  
**Pairings:** Mention of Xander/Cordy and Xander/Willow(UST). Getting close to the Spander part.  
  
**Setting:** Definitely AU. Most of the major events will stay the same, with a few snakey curves thrown in for fun.  
  
**Disclaimer:** Joss Whedon and the lovely folks at Mutant Enemy own the characters (except for Hal) and would probably cringe in terror at what I'm making their boys do. But since they aren't here to veto it, enjoy!  
  
**Author's Notes:** Follows 'A Cure for What Ails You'. To the handful that chose to skip the first part, all you really need to know before reading this series is that a young Xander came across a buttplug and learned to love using it.

 

**This Is Your Brain... on Hormones**

 

 **Fall, 1997**  
  
Four and a half years ago, Xander made a miraculous discovery, thanks to his mother's gin-saturated mistake. Two years later, he found out exactly how... _abnormal_ , how far _outside the box_ his favorite pasttime was from that of his classmates.   
  
Not that he went around advertising it. _Oh yeah, I'll be the poster child for Prostate Stimulation. See them line up for a personal demonstration. Not!_ But contrary to the opinions of his teachers, parents and other authority figures of adult status, Xander did actually pay attention to his surroundings. He took careful notes of the topics of locker room discussion. He listened to conversations in the halls and during lunch. He even went so far as to _gasp_ offer a sympathetic ear while his favorite girls went through PMS. And a Slayer on PMS = the most terrifying experience on earth.  
  
So it was that, over the course of the four years and six months since he had first encountered the wonderful world of butt play, Xander had a decent sized list of do's and don't's concerning his sexuality.  
  
The fact that he wore his much loved butt plug on a regular basis might possibly be viewed in a bad light by his peers. If he decided to share such information with them. Which he had no plans on ever, **ever** doing. That would definitely fall under the category of too much sharing.  
  
He had quickly discovered that, although he was much too young to legally step foot inside Sunnydale's only adult toy store, the afternoon clerk would happily let him lurk in the shadows of the back aisles. For the price of a handjob -- the pervy, cross-eyed, balding thirtysomething got turned on by watching Xander jerk off. Which was how he discovered yet another kink to add to his growing list : exhibitionism. If some dirty old man wanted to watch him beat his meat, then leer when he shuffled up to the register with a tube of slick and a string of anal beads... well, they both got what they wanted, right? No one got hurt, no chance of disease.  
  
Unlike most young men of his age, Xander wasn't overly fond of the glossy photos found in the usual porn magazines. Yeah, breasts were great, butts were wonderful, and the occasional glimpse of wet pink lips _down there_ got him hot... but they were just pictures of some disinterested blonde (or brunette, or the occasional redhead) in a cheesy pose. He had to dig behind an outdated stack of _Milkin' Mommas_ to find the editions that tipped his world on its axis. Hal (the thirtysomething pervy clerk) nearly shot a load in his Dickies the first time Xander brought a curled up copy of _AssMasters_ and two PatchPocket Books to the checkout.   
  
In the past year, he had accumulated quite a collection of very selective pornography, both pictorial and literary. Shortly after his first thorough reading through the very graphic, anal-centric magazine, he'd come to the conclusion that he needed more privacy -- and left the relative comfort of his bedroom behind for a double set of locks and four concrete walls in his parents' basement. It was dim, gloomy, and always smelled of moldy gym socks, but it had the best sound-proofing in the whole house. And a convenient cubbyhole under the bathroom cabinet that easily held the entire collection of books, magazines, toys, lubricant, and assorted odds and ends he would absolutely **die** if anyone found. He could cope with the funky smells. Especially since he quite often added his own to the mix.  
  
Coping. That was a concept he'd learned the hard way. Coping with Jesse's death. Coping with Willow's crush. Coping with a stronger-than-superhero Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Vampires and demons and witches and werewolves? Why not! It only made sense, in a totally non-sensey kind of way. The kind of sense it did not make was his fascination with Cordelia Chase. Oh sure, she was gorgeous and popular and had that bendy cheerleader thing going for her, but man, who was slipping what sort of drugs to make him stick around for the public abuse and private gropeage?  
  
Actually, he had a sneaking suspicion about that one. Thanks to some bedtime reading, he was well-versed in many of the so-called "alternative lifestyles", and while his male ego balked at the idea, the _other_ ego seemed quite interested in exploring some of the darker games. Bondage and domination? Definite twitch. Sadism and masochism? Balls tightened and shivered in horrified fascination. Spankings? Good for a finale to any pleasure session. Even the idea of being humiliated, being called a slut or cocksucker, didn't turn him off. Therefore, him and Queen C as an item wasn't as wig-worthy as his best friends made it out to be. Hell, Cordy was always good for some quality humiliation, and she had the whole dominatrix thing going for her.  
  
Which, naturally, meant that something was fated to screw up.

~ * ~

  
Spike, also known as William the Bloody, stormed back into town on a mission. His princess, his dark goddess, his beloved Drusilla had told him that "he wasn't demon enough" for her... but he had a plan to change that. Kidnapping the Slayer's little friends was the easy part. The redheaded chit had power enough to spare for a simple love charm, and if Spike managed to drag along the boy as well? It just gave him something to play with while he waited for the witchling to do her thing.  
  
He left the girl to her smelly herbs and spellbook, then turned his attention on his other guest.  
  
Xander woke to a splitting headache that left no doubt about the most recent memories being real. Of course, being splashed with a bucket of cold water by a vampire in full gameface helped him come to this logical conclusion. Sputtering, he nearly knocked himself out as his hands flew up to shield his face, the heavy iron manacles adding injury to insult... to injury... when they impacted with his cheeks and chest.  
  
"Glad ya could join the party, boy," came a sneering voice from way too nearby.  
  
He groaned and grumbled, then groaned again for effect. "Santa, I swear I wasn't **that** naughty this year! Couldn't you just let me off with a lump of coal, and we'll call it even?"  
  
Instead of the expected painful death, the demon's throaty laughter met his sarcasm. Xander refused to acknowledge the shiver of arousal that raced down his spine and threatened a spectacular encore in his pants. Sure, Spike had a sexy accent, and he looked great in those sinfully tight jeans, and who could miss the way he stalked like a great big, sensual predator, and... what was he saying? Oh yeah, not getting turned on by the bad, rude vamp. Nuh uh.  
  
Spike's nostrils flared. He had been watching the boy for signs of terror, outrage, or any of a dozen amusing emotions he'd come to expect from the Slayer's minions. With the witchling, he could safely predict a stuttering attempt at sanity -- ie, follow instructions until someone saves her. But the lad, the one Angelus had dubbed "the Slayer's White Knight"... He was a mouthy little fuck. What caught Spike's attention, however, wasn't the string of mildly entertaining nonsense out of the boy's mouth. He breathed deeply, and a wicked grin grew across his face.  
  
"I know what you're thinking," he singsonged in Xander's ear. "Int'resting, very int'resting. Do Slutty and the Watcher know about your... preferences?" Spike quickly put his hand over the boy's mouth, cutting off whatever excuse or distraction he might try to use. "Can smell it, can't I? Not nice to lie, Xander."  
  
Face flushing a brilliant red, the teen kept his head tucked down to his chest. "Spike," his voice was resigned and slightly huffy, "I'm a teenage male. _Linoleum_ gets me hot, so don't let your ego explode, ok?"  
  
A quick glance over his shoulder showed the girl to be hard at work. Or at least pretending like she was doing what she was supposed to do. Spike dropped down into a squat beside the boy, letting his knee brush against a warm shoulder, and inwardly applauded himself as the fresh wave of desire flooded his senses. He leaned down to whisper directly into Xander's ear, "I doubt that even the fanciest flooring could make you scream. From pleasure, of course." Making a point to breathe against the boy's neck, he continued the taunt, "You'd be wanting someone strong to take ya in hand, yeh? Someone to show ya the... ropes. Teach ya everything there is to know about how to please a body, train ya up just right."  
  
Xander's higher brain functions issued a stern _No way in hell, not from you!_ , but his dick was practically drooling at the implied offer. _What do you know, you pathetic piece of meat. Not that you aren't fun to play with, but we're talking about a soulless fiend! A demon who has spent the past hundred years spilling blood across at least four continents! He's more likely to kill than kiss, right? Right, we can do this. Ignore the sexy beast -- the barbaric, blood-letting beast -- the monster who wants to suck..._ NO! _No thinking about suckage! Get it together, Xanman._  
  
Undaunted by the tight lipped silence, Spike ran his fingers down the boy's hunched back, smirking at the shudder of awareness his touch provoked. "Ya know what's best part? I'm not gonna keep ya here, won't force ya into anything. Won't even take a taste, pet." He let his tongue out to trace the tender edge of Xander's ear. "Leaving it up to you, whether ya want what I've got on offer. 'M sure if ya try hard enough, you'll find me, once ya make up your mind."  
  
With that, he slithered one hand down to the boy's lap, gave him a firm grope, and smoothly stood up. Spike let his fingers card through the soft brown hair, smirking at the subvocal moan it produced, then patted the boy's head and went back to _encourage_ the witch's progress.  
  
Leaving behind a dazed Xander Harris, who could do little more than wrap his arms around his knees and pray for the courage to stay alive until Buffy got there to save him and Willow. And the strength to will away the Annoying Thing between his legs that made its opinion quite clear -- his libido (and dick) was very interested in accepting the purty vamp's offer. _I am_ **so** _fucked._  
~ * ~

  
Several hours later, Xander staggered down the stairs to his basement, nursing yet another headache. Of course, the handprint on his face and trendy boot-bruised shin didn't help his frame of mind either. He silently admitted that, yes, he probably deserved both. His recently ex-girlfriend walking into the room to find his lips attached to Willow's? So of the bad. And sure, he probably could have handled it better than claiming "I thought we were gonna die, why else would I do it?" within earshot of the kissee-who-happened-to-be-his-best-friend-and-a-powerful-witch-in-training. So the face slapping he was alright with too. Who knew that cheerleading and wacky wicca stuff could give the girls such strength though? _Ouch!_  
  
He opened his temperamental freezer and grabbed a recycle-able bag of frozen peas (kept just for such an emergency) and gave it a couple of good whacks against the counter of his mini kitchen, shaking the tiny spheres of icy coolness loose enough to provide maximum comfort.   
  
_My life? Is hell. I have reached levels of misery previously unknown to mankind. Or womankind. But then, womankind is kinda the whole reason for my field trip to hell in the first place, so maybe they know about it already. Oh yeah, there's bound to be this huge committee of ladies that get together once a month, just to talk about the types of torture to be inflicted on random males. Bet it's got something to do with that double-X chromosome thing. Like a club. No Y members allowed. Which pretty much guarantees that every man ever born has this glowing, beeping bullseye in their gene chart. Except... aren't gays exempt? All the girls I know think having a gay friend is so cool. Hmm, maybe I should swear off the ladies and try a walk on the bi-side. Which is where this whole mess started, what with me trying to wipe the image of Spike on his knees out of my mind by kissing a girl. God! My life is hell._

~ * ~

  
The following morning, Xander woke to the brain-scrambling tones of his clock radio. Fortunately for it, his aim was off -- his fingers accidentally hit the off button instead of knocking the noisy beast off the dresser.  
  
_Yeah, someone hates me. Seven AM on a Saturday morning. Gah, almost not worth the effort. But I should get up, shower and hunt down some breakfast. Get ready to grovel. Times two. Or possibly three, since Buff's got a healthy dose of righteous indignation going on as well. Must be that committee thing... with a hive mentality that makes sure to spread the suffering._  
  
He rolled over to bury his face in his pillow... and nearly suffocated himself on the warm bag of mushy peas. _Dammit! Well, this is gonna be a record breaking day for the Xanman, ladies and gents. By noon, they'll have to carry me away in one of those_ darling _white jackets, with the cute little buckles on the sleeves._  
  
Depressed, hungry, and still a little horny for reasons he refused to acknowledge in the cold light of day, Xander untangled himself from the sheets and dragged his butt into his dinky little bathroom. Standard morning ritual had him reaching for his favorite plug as he grabbed a fresh towel. The cabinet door closed with its normal creak, and he leaned over to start the shower.   
  
He didn't even think about what he was doing, so ingrained was the habit. Morning = showertime = fun with bumpy red dildo. Only after he'd worked two fingers of lube inside his ass, the smirking face of a certain undead blonde flashed through his mind. The resulting tsunami of arousal had him spurting over the tiles faster than he'd done in years. Panting and flushed, he switched the hot water off, forcing himself to stand still under the pounding cold spray.   
  
_I can't believe... Which part of it is harder to believe? That I came so fast, or that it was over the thought of **him**? And is this another one to add to the list? Vampire fetish -- god no, please no! Alright, let's look at this. Angel... still inspires hatred and mockage, no sweet tingles. Darla. Now that's wrong and disturbing on so many levels. I'd rather boink Harmony. Huh, haven't spent much time with any other vamps. Well, there's Drusilla, but come on! Crazy Dru? Nuh uh, not for this boy._  
  
_So, Spike._ A familiar tightening between his legs let him know that at least one part of his body liked that idea very **very** much. _Oh shit, it's just Spike. Blond and lean and you know that isn't his natural hair color but damn he pulls it off so well, and what he does to button-fly jeans should be made illegal. Was he serious? Wait. No. No going there, Alexander LaVelle Harris. There is no way in this world, or any alternate dimension in any of Giles' books, that you are considering for even a split second letting William the Bloody touch you in any form or fashion. Doesn't matter what he sounded like, laughing and whispering naughty nothings in your ear. Doesn't matter how his eyes went gold when he sniffed... dammit, that's so unfair! Vamps get to smell things like lies and hormones and... eww, does that mean they can tell when girls are on the rag too?_  
  
_I am **so** going to hell. A deeper level, since obviously I've had the tour of the meet-and-greet hall. Got my hand stamped and everything. Maybe I should get some of that sackcloth stuff and hang out by the mission, a little dented tin cup and sunglasses for props. Call out "Unclean, unclean!" and rattle the cup for spare change. Beggars work the day shift if they're smart -- no chance of meeting up with nicely muscled Brits with fangs. Unless there's a vampire priest. Or a priestly vamp? Must be a bitch getting dressed, if every time you try to put on your jewelry, it burns..._   
  
_Damn, I need coffee. Double mocha, with chocolate syrup. And double chip muffins. It's safe, daylight, no way would I run into temptation in leather at the Espresso Pump at this time of the morning, right? Might have to dodge Buffy or Cordy on a pre-breakfast shopping spree, which would be. Awkward. Very. So coffee... maybe I'll just jog over to the QuikMart, grab a donut or two, and come back here. Hide, lock the doors, double deadbolt baby! And figure out how much chocolate it'll take to get back in my girls' good graces._


End file.
